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NEW YORK STATE 
RURAL LIFE PLAYS 



SOIL 



By 

MAYER PORTNER 




I 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Founded 1845 
Incorporated 1898 

Thos. R. Edwards, Managing Director 
25 West 45/^ Street . A/'^w Yory^ City 

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PRICE 30 CENTS 



NEW YORK STATE RURAL LIFE PLAYS 

BETSY ANNE. A play in i act. By Phyllis 
Chapman. 3 males, 3 females, i interior. 

BALANCED DIET. A comedy of Country Life 
in I act. By Elizabeth Lay Green. 5 males, 3 fe- 
males. I interior. 

SOIL. A play in i act. By Mayer Portner. 4 
males, i female, i interior. 

THE OLD TIMERS' BUREAU. A comedy in i 
act. By Joh. H. Munson. 6 males, 4 females, i 
interior. 

THAT UPPER FORTY. A play in i act. By 
Marvin Herrick and Hoyt H. Hudson. 4 males, 2 
females, i interior. 

OUT OF THE NIGHT. A play in i act. By 
John Smith. 5 males, 2 females, i interior. 

THE WOODPILE. A tragedy in i act. By Mor- 
ton Mix. 2 males, i female, i interior. 

WEDDING CLOTHES. A farm play in i act. 
By Grace Kiner. i male, 2 females, i interior. 

TOO BUSY. A play in i act. By Bertha M. Wal- 
lace. 6 females, i interior. 

These plays may be produced without payment of 
a royalty fee. 

Price, 30 Cents Each 

SAMUEL FRENCH 
25 West 45th Street, New York, N. Y. 



SOIL 



By 
MAYER PORTNER 



Plays written for contests conducted under the 
auspices of Cornell University with the cooperation 
of the New York Department of Farms and Mar- 
kets, New Y'ork State Grange, New Y^ork State 
Farm Bureau Federation, the New York State Fed- 
eration of Home Bureaus and the Grange League 
Federation. 



EDITED BY 

Alexander M. Drummond, Mary Eva Duthie, 

For the Department of Rural Social Organization, 

New York State College of Agriculture 

at Cornell University. 



SAMUEL FRENCH 

Founded 1845 

Incorporated 1 898 

Thos. R. Edwards, Managing Director 

25 West 4.5th Street . New York City 

1. 0« 






Copyright, 1928, by Samuel French 

Amateurs in the United States of America 
may produce this play without the payment of 
a royalty fee. All other rights are strictly 
reserved. Regarding these rights application 
must be made to Samuel French, 25 West 
45th St., New York, N. Y. 



TMP96-006856 
©ClDpub.85212 



D£C 



29 \^^^ 



To Judith 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 

John Lane An old farmer 

Mrs. Lane His wife 

Ted Lane His son 

Mr. Sanders A hotel keeper 

Mr. Thompson A lawyer 

Time : The present. 

Place: A mountain resort in New York State. 



SOIL 



The living-room of a farmhouse in the mountain 
districts of Southern New York. On the right 
a table with three chairs around it. On the 
left a sofa. In the center a door leading to the 
outside. On both sides of the door, hooks in 
the wall on which all kinds of automobile ac- 
cessories are hanging — old tire tubes, skid 
chains, etc. Near the sofa, upper left on a 
small table a telephone with a directory. On 
the right a door to the kitchen which is kept 
open due to the warm weather. 

As the curtain rises, discovered John Lane, his 
wife and son finishing the noonday meal. 
Lane is a man of sixty, enjoying good health 
as becomes a hard-working outdoor man. He 
carries himself erect and moves about with the 
steady, confident step of a man who knows 
what to do at all times. His hair is white but 
his face still shows signs of vigorous health. 
He is dressed in a blue shirt and overalls. His 
son is about medium in height, slender and with 
delicate features. He wears a pair of dark 
gray trousers, a striped shirt, a soft collar and 
a bow tie. The mother is a small, white-haired 
woman of fifty with a face that still shows 
signs of former beauty. 

Lane. The pie tastes very good to-day. Just as 
I told Mr. Sanders the other day when he asked me 
to have dinner at his place. I told him that his 
chef could never bake pie like you do. " Why," 

7 



8 SOIL 

he says to me, " I've got the best chef in the moun- 
tains, a wonderful cook." So I says to him, " He 
may be a good cook but he'll never make the kind 
of pies my wife makes." (Mrs. Lane smiles at him 
and begins gathering the dishes, carrying them into 
the next room.) Ted, what are you doing this 
afternoon? 

Ted. I'm going down to the station to meet the 
train and then go over to Mr. Sanders' place to see 
if anybody wants to go riding this afternoon. 

Mrs. Lane. Ted, be sure to put chains on the 
tires. It rained very hard last night and the roads 
will be slippery. 

Lane. Listen, Ted, never mind going down to 
the station this afternoon, I want you to help me 
a little around the farm. 

Ted. What do you want now? 

Lane. I want you to help me spray the potatoes. 
After last night's rain we ought to have a stretch 
of good weather so if we spray the potatoes now 
and then hoe 'em up a little, they'll be in good shape. 
I've got the stuff all mixed and ready to spray. 

Ted. I can't help you now. I've got to meet the 
train. 

Lane. Meet the train! That's all you know is 
meet the train. How about the potatoes, and the 
rest of the work on the farm? I can't do it all my- 
self. 

Ted. I help with the milking, don't I ? 

Lane. He helps me with the milking! That's 
very nice of you. And how about the rest of the 
work on the farm? There's corn to cultivate and 
potatoes to hoe and the oats will be ready to cut in 
another couple of weeks. I can't do it without your 
helping us. (Ted rises from the sofa and begins 
taking some chains from the wall. An old tire tube 
falls off, he picks it up and examines it, finds a hole 
in it and begins to patch it. During the rest of the 



SOIL 9 

scene he is busy patching the tube.) Well, what 
do you say, Ted? You gonna help me spray the 
potatoes ? 

Ted. No, sir; not to-day; and I don't think I 
can help you any more during the summer. The 
season is pretty well under way, and the hotels are 
filling up with boarders. There's too much money 
to be made with the car to let it stand around and 
help you with the farm work. 

Lane. And let the farm go to the dogs, eh? 

Ted. No, you don't have to do that. You can 
sell it. 

Lane. What? 

Ted. Sell the farm. Mr. Sanders is willing to 
buy it. 

Lane. Willing to buy it, is he? So he spoke to 
you too, eh? Well, you can tell Mr. Sanders that 
he better get it out of his head. I won't sell this 
place. I was born and raised here, lived here all 
my life — so did my father before me — and I expect 
to see you do the same. 

Ted. If it was up to me I'd sell this place to- 
morrow and buy a garage with the money. I could 
make more money in one month than you can make 
on the farm in a whole season. 

Lane. Well, as long as I live, you won't do it, 
you lazy, good-for-nothing loafer. 

Mrs. Lane. (Entering from the other room) 
John, don't yell at the boy. He is not a lazy loafer. 
He works hard enough driving that car at all hours 
of the night. If you'd sell the farm and give him 
the money to buy the garage down the village we 
could all live without working so hard. 

Lane. I ain't afraid of hard work. Nobody in 
my family ever was. We've always been hard- 
working farmers. My father used to work from 
morning till night every summer day and even in 
the winter time he was busy doing something, and 



lo SOIL 

taught me to work hard. And to think that I have 
a son who sits in his car all day like an old hen. 
He sure didn't get the lazy spirit from me. 

Mrs. Lane. He isn't lazy at all. 

Ted. If you're gonna listen to me and sell the 
farm so that I can get that garage down the village, 
we'll be a darn sight better off than we are now. 

Lane. You catch me sell the farm and loafing 
around the village! Why, I'd get rusty from not 
doing any work. 

Mrs. Lane. You can work around the garage 
and help Ted. And when it isn't so busy you could 
work on the garden in back of the house. You 
could raise some cabbage and some beans and maybe 
a little potatoes to keep us going for a while. 

Lane. Me work a little two by four garden in 
the back yard ! Me that's used to climbing up on a 
hill and look over acres and acres of corn and oats 
that I planted, you want me to plant two rows of 
beans and cabbage and then play around with a rake 
and hoe like a small boy. Will that take the place 
of plowing the land in the spring, turning over one 
furrow of soil after the other till the whole field 
is turned over; or pitching on a big load of hay 
and mowing it away in the barn in the summer 
time ; or harvesting and threshing the oats and husk- 
ing the corn in the fall of the year. There's a man's 
work for you and that's what I have done all my 
life. . . . And you expect me to give up all that 
for a little garden in a back yard down the village. 
I guess not. I won't sell this farm as long as I live 
and just as soon as he gets a little sense in that fool 
head of his, he'll be feeling the same way. 

Ted. I don't care what you say, Til never work 
on the farm any more. 

Lane. That's a fine thing to say, isn't it? You 
didn't talk that way when you wanted to buy the 
car and needed money. Then it was, '' Oh, I'll help 



SOIL II 

you, Dad, just the same. Til run the car only at 
night and on Sundays." And now you won't do 
any work at all. There's a good son for you, a son 
like that ought never to have been born. 

Mrs. Lane. John Lane, I wish you wouldn't talk 
that way ! He is your son 

Lane. {Interrupting) My son, eh? Well, he 
don't act like his father. He is more like you than 
me anyway. That's what I get for letting you edu- 
cate him. When he was sixteen, I wanted to put 
him to work and make a good farmer out of him, 
but you couldn't see it. You wanted him to go to 
high school. What did you want to do, make a 
school teacher out of him? 

Mrs. Lane. You thought a whole lot of school 
teachers when you were courting me. 

Lane. I was a fool those days. 

(Mrs. Lane begins to cry.) 

Ted. Don't cry, Mom, and never mind him. I'll 
buy that garage anywa}^ even if I have to borrow 
money to do it. And you see if he don't change his 
mind after a while and sell the place. 

Lane. I'll never sell this farm. 

Ted. We'll see about it. Anyway, I ain't gonna 
stay here all day and argue about it with you. (He 
hangs the tube back on the wall.) 

Lane. I don't care if you argue till you're blue 
in the face. I won't sell this farm, that's all. And 
you could have been out in the field with me and 
working instead of standing here and talking. But 
there'll be no more talking on the subject in this 
house, young man. And w^hat's more, you better 
make up your mind that you're going to help me 
on the farm or you'll be sorry. 

Ted. I won't do a bit of work on that damn 
farm of yours. 



12 SOIL 

Lane. (In a rising voice) Damn farm, is it, eh? 
I'll show you, worthless pup. Where is the ax? 
(He makes a move toward the kitchen.) I'll smash 
that car of yours to pieces. 

Ted. No, you won't, you old fool. {He goes 
out by the center door, slamming the door after 
him. ) 

Mrs. Lane. (Comes in from the kitchen and 
calls to her husband as he is about to follow Ted 
out of doors) There, John, calm yourself. What's 
the matter with you, anyway? 

Lane. What's the matter! . . . Didn't you 
hear him call me an old fool? Oh, to raise such 
an ungrateful pup and to hear him call you names! 
(He sits down in a chair.) 

Mrs. Lane. (Coming over to him and putting 
her hands on his shotdder) Oh, he didn't mean it. 
. . . John, why don't you be nice to the boy in- 
stead of always fighting w^ith him? He's not a bad 
sort. What if he doesn't work on the farm? He's 
making good with the car and I guess he'd make 
out all right with the garage if he'd buy it. After 
all, he's our son, the only one we've got so let's 
make him happy. 

Lane. (Exasperated) Are you going to start 
where he left ofif? Great Scott, qan't I have peace 
in my own home at all? Everybody turning 
against me. (He rises and goes out through the 
kitchen, slamming the outer door behind him. Mrs. 
Lane watches him go out and goes over to the door 
in the center.) 

Mrs. Lane. I wonder if Ted has gone away? 
(She trips over the tire chains on the floor.) Oh, 
he forgot to take the chains for the tires and the 
roads are so slippery. That's what happens when 
they argue and become excited. He runs out and 
leaves the chains behind. I hope he is careful driv- 
ing down the hill and around the four corners. 



SOIL 13 

Ever since he bought the car there is nothing but 
arguments and fights, but I never saw them get 
mad hke this. Sometimes I wish that he had never 
bought the old car, still it's better than farming. If 
he could only buy the garage down the village he 
wouldn't have to drive a car and could make more 
money too. But if John won't sell the farm, how 
can he get money to buy the garage? (A sound of 
feet being wiped on a door mat outside, followed by 
a knock on the door.) Come in. 

{Enter Sanders and Thompson. Sanders is a 
man of fifty, medium height, heavy set, thick 
necked, dressed in the manner of a country 
gentleman. His hair is turning gray but his 
face has good color. Thompson is a tall, dis- 
tinguished-looking man, neatly dressed.) 

Sanders. Good-afternoon, Mrs. Lane. 

Mrs. Lane. Good-afternoon, Mr. Sanders. 

Sanders. Where's Mr. Lane? I'd like to see 
him on a business matter. 

Mrs. Lane. Mr. Sanders, John is a little upset 
to-day. I think it w^ould be better to see him some 
other time. 

Sanders. Oh, that's all right. Where is he at? 
My friend here, Mr. Thompson — (Mrs. Lane 
courtesies) who is a lawyer, w^ill talk to him and 
we'll see what can be done about this deal. 

Mrs. Lane. Couldn't you come around some 
other time 

Sanders. {Interrupting) Impossible. Mr. 
Thompson has to catch the five o'clock train to New 
York. 

Mrs. Lane. All right. I'll see if I can find him. 
He must be way out in the field hoeing potatoes. 
{She goes out through the kitchen.) 



14 SOIL 

(Sanders sits down and pulls out two cigars from 
his pocket, offers one to Thompson and they 
both light up.) 

Thompson. What sort of a man is he anyway? 

Sanders. Oh, one of these stubborn old farmers 
who won't Hsten to reason. I spoke to him a couple 
of times but it's no use, he won't sell. 

Thompson. What makes you so anxious to buy 
the place anyway? I thought that he had at least 
some good buildings on the place, but he hasn't 
even got that. You can't put any guests in this 
rickety old shack. 

Sanders. Don't be too sure about that. I've 
put 'em up in worse places than this. When peo- 
ple come out in the country for a few weeks, they're 
not particular where they sleep. The main thing 
is to be in the country and get fresh air. I'll bet I 
can get as much rent for these rooms as for any 
room in my hotel. But it isn't only the buildings — 
it's the farm I'm after. There's a nice lake on the 
grounds where I can go fishing and guests could go 
bathing and rowing. That would help my business 
a good deal. And then he has a whole lot of land 
that I could use for pasture for my cattle. My own 
land is rather poor in pasture and I have to buy 
hay. So I made up my mind to buy the farm and 
be done with it. When I make up my mind to get 
something I usually get it, and I'm going to get this 
farm. (Footsteps are heard.) Oh, here he comes 
now! 

Sanders. How do you do, Mr. Lane? Have a 
cigar. 

Lane. Never mind your cigars. Don't think 
that you're dealing with my boy now. I know what 
you came here for, and let me tell you that you're 
wasting your time. I won't sell this farm and that 
settles it. 



SOIL 15 

Sanders. But, Mr. Lane, won't you listen to 
reason ? 

Lane. I'll listen to nothing. 

Sanders. But if I offer you a good price? 

Lane. You couldn't offer me all the money in 
the world and you ought to be ashamed of yourself 
for talking to my boy about it and trying to make 
him go against his father. But it won't help you a 
bit. I've lived on this place all my life and so did 
my father before me, and I expect my boy to do 
the same thing. He'll settle down and get married 
and will stay on the farm like the rest of the Lane 
family. 

Sanders. Mr. Lane, I'll give fifteen thousand 
dollars for your farm the way it stands. Mr. 
Thompson, who is a lawyer, is ready to draw up 
the papers. 

Lane. He'll draw up no papers, if I can help it ! 
What do you mean by bringing a lawyer to my 
house, anyway? Do you think you can make me 
sell when you bring a lawyer to me? Get out of 
my home and get out quick. {He points to the 
door.) 

Sanders. All right, you needn't get excited 
about it. {He leaves, accompanied by Thompson.) 

Lane. {Wiping his brow with a blue bandana 
handkerchief) Talk about having nerve, he beats 
anybody I ever seen. Brings a lawyer to my house, 
damn his hide. Thinks he can scare me into selling 
by bringing a lawyer. 

{The telephone bell rings, Mrs. Lane answers it.) 

Mrs. Lane. Hello, yes, this is Mrs. Lane; who 

is this, please? Yes What? My boy in an 

accident He's dead ! {She screams and drops 

the receiver. She swoons. John Lane has been 
standing near her and as she falls, catches her in 



i6 SOIL 

his arms. He carries her over to the sofa and be- 
gins working on her to revive her. He rushes into 
the kitchen and returns with some cold water in a 
dipper. He throws some water on her face and 
follows it up by pinching her cheeks and vigorously 
rubbing her wrists. After a while Mrs. Lane 
comes to.) 

Lane. Do you feel better now? 

Mrs. Lane. My Teddy is killed and you, you're 
to blame. 

Lane. Calm yourself, Mary. (Mrs. Lane turns 
her face to the wall crying. Lane leaves her and 
walks up and down the room wringing his hands. 
After a short moment he comes over to the sofa 
and bending over speaks to his wife.) There, Mary, 
don't cry ; it won't help us anyway. He's gone and 
we can't get him back now. {He lays his hand on 
her shoulder.) 

Mrs. Lane. {Shrinking from him) Don't touch 
me, you murderer, you sent him to his death 

you {She breaks down again. Her shoulders 

heave spasmodically and her words become inaudi- 
ble. Lane stands before her and tries to say some- 
thing but the words are lost in his throat. A pause. 
Mrs. Lane turns her face from the wall and is 
facing her husband. As he catches her eye he mas- 
ters himself. Mrs. Lane, slowly and sobbingly.) 
If you hadn't jumped on him and got him excited 
. . . my boy would still be alive and all because 
he told you to sell the farm. What good is your 
farm now when we are alone and nobody with us 
in our old age ? 

(Lane suddenly walks over to the door and yells.) 

Lane. Sanders, hi, Sanders, come back here 



Mrs. Lane. Don't call that man here. He's the 
cause of it all. I don't want him in my 



SOIL 17 

house. . . . (Lane turns around and is about to 
say something, but cannot find any words. He 
walks up and down the room.) If it wasn't for 
him my boy would still be living. You and Ted 
always got along so well, until that man set the boy 
thinking of selling the farm. 

(Enter Sanders and Thompson. They remain 
standing in the doorway.) 

Sanders. Well ? y 

Lane. I'm going to sell the farm. 

( Sanders walks down stage triumphantly. Thomp- 
son follows him.) 

Sanders. That's fine. (Turning to Thompson.) 
I knew he'd listen to reason. We can draw up a bill 
of sale right now. 

Mrs. Lane. Don't sell it, John. . . . If s too 
late anyway. . . . 

Sanders. Why, what's the matter? 

( The body of Ted is brought in by some neighbors. 
They carry it to the center of the stage. Mrs. 
Lane screams and falls back on the sofa.) 

Thompson. Sanders, let us go home. We can't 
talk business till after the funeral. 

(They walk out softly as the curtain descends.) 

CURTAIN 



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